


Rorschach's Game

by savlylee



Category: GOT7, Jackson Wang - Fandom, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of firsts, Anal Sex, And kinky, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jackson Wang, BAMF Peter Parker, BDSM, Bi Jackson Wang, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bottom Peter Parker, Cussing, Daddy Dom Jackson Wang, Daddy Kink, Dominant Masochism, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone gets hugs, Evil Plans, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Peter Parker, Gun Violence, Hot, Human Trafficking, Hurt Jackson, Hurt Jackson Wang, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I REPEAT NOT A SLOW BURN, Immediate Attraction, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's good I promise, Jackson Gets a Hug, Jackson Needs a Hug, Jackson Wang-centric, Jackson has powers, Kidnapping, Light Sadism, Love, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Oral Sex, Oscorp - Freeform, Oscorp is evil man, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker-centric, Peter Tries to Help, Peter is a Little Shit, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Revenge, SHIT HOW DID I FORGET THAT, Shower Sex, Smoking, Sub Peter Parker, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, Tattoos, Their Love Is So, They're both nerds, Top Jackson Wang, Violence, Why Did I Write This?, World Domination, alright no more hints!, and guys it's my first time writing smut so pls be gentle, bad boy jackson wang, but Jackson Wang is secretly a nerd, but he's scared of them, but this is really dirty, fuck thanos, he can wait a damn minute, i'll add more as i think of em tho, just the feelings are faster, not a slow burn, ok?, there is a plot too btw, there's a bunch of motivation here, there's that too, this shit lights fast, woo boy i better stop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savlylee/pseuds/savlylee
Summary: RATED EXPLICIT FOR GRAPHIC SEX AND VIOLENCE so if that's not for you, please keep scrolling.Peter first met Jackson Wang freshman year when his class took a field trip to Oscorp. Peter was in the middle of animated science chatter with Ned while the tour guide droned on in the background. He had turned mid-pun and nearly tripped when his eyes caught on the dark pair across the room. The other man was casually leaning against one of the work tables in an adjacent lab room as he spoke with one of the scientists flittering about. However, his eyes, black beneath the shadows of his baseball cap, were fixed directly on Peter. It was intimidating, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.Everything about that man screamed trouble.OR; After Peter meets Jackson, his whole life turns topsy-turvy, and not just because he gets bitten by a radioactive spider.
Relationships: Jackson Wang & Peter Parker, Jackson Wang/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Jackson Wang, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Jackson Wang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets Jackson in a series of happenstance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing super explicit in this chapter, it's honestly kind of like a prologue.
> 
> Also, if you're here after reading some of my other Jackson Wang x Avengers story: The Hand of Ogun, I do apologize for taking so long to update! I actually haven't been able to sit down and write for fun for a while now, but I got stuck with a creative hair and wrote like four chapters for this in one day and fell in love with it, so I just had to share it. I'll try to get around to updating my other one, but I make no promises. :(
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy it!

Peter first met Jackson Wang freshman year when his class took a field trip to Oscorp. Peter was in the middle of animated science chatter with Ned while the tour guide droned on in the background. He had turned mid-pun and nearly tripped when his eyes caught on the dark pair across the room. The other man was casually leaning against one of the work tables in an adjacent lab room as he spoke with one of the scientists flittering about. However, his eyes, black beneath the shadows of his baseball cap, were fixed directly on Peter. It was intimidating, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

He couldn't tell if the man worked there or not because he wasn't wearing a staff ID badge, but he didn't have a visitor's lanyard either. At first, Peter just assumed that maybe he had a parent who worked there, or a girlfriend or something. If Peter had to guess, the man looked to be about 17 or 18, old enough to have a decent amount of stubble on his jawline. Peter found his attention captured by how his mouth moved as he spoke and how his hands splayed against the tabletop behind him. His long legs were crossed at the ankles, and he wore all black, including a leather jacket, which made Peter frown.

_ Who wears something like that when it's almost 80 degrees outside? _

Peter bit his lip when he thought he glimpsed traces of black ink stretching across the man's collarbone and disappearing beneath the neckline of his T-shirt. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a corner of the man's lips curled upward. Peter's eyes shot back up to the stranger's once again and widened. He immediately felt a warmth rush up to his cheeks at being caught.

_ What is wrong with me? _ he mentally shook himself.

Luckily for him, Ned chose that moment to squeal over whatever presentation the guide was giving, forcing Peter's attention away from the dark stranger with even darker eyes. Everything about that man screamed trouble.

When he risked another glance up, the man was gone. It was almost as if Peter had imagined the entire thing. Or hallucinated it. Needless to say, the rest of the tour had been cumbersome. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if that man would be standing right behind him or watching him from a distance. Peter had never been so paranoid before.

It wasn't until later, when he found himself separated from the group due to his inquisitive nature, that he ran into the man again. He had wandered away from the tour guide to examine a dim metal room taken over by elaborate black shapes and swirls. They seemed to be etched into the walls, the floors, the tables; there were even some on the ceiling. He squinted his eyes and found black shapes embedded in the glass of some of the lightbulbs. Peter cautiously stepped forward to trace one of the designs. It was jagged and angry looking, curling almost chaotically along the wall until it reached a sharp point. He shivered in the chill of the room and thought about leaving. Then he found a small bookshelf over in the corner. This, too, was made of metal. Pulling a book from the shelf, his fingers gently traced its spine.

_ Of Mice and Men. _

The book was bent at the corners, and there was a small tear at the bottom, but other than that, it looked cared for. Peter carefully sifted through the yellowed folios until he stumbled across a page five chapters in, contents nearly concealed by black ink. The previous page read ' _92_ ' at the bottom, so that one had to be 93. Most of the words were hidden by beautiful swirls of ink, twisting and bending in a hypnotic pattern around two sentences, the only section of the page untouched by the florid strokes. Surrounded by inky tendrils were the words, 'As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.' Peter felt a sense of awe and wonder as he followed the delicate detailing with a fingertip; it was so much calmer feeling than the harsh lines streaking across the rest of the room. He couldn't help but smile softly when he found a small image hidden in the margin.

"It's rude to touch things that aren't yours," a raspy voice said from behind him.

Peter whipped his head up and nearly toppled back into the bookshelf in his haste to turn around. Leaning his broad shoulders against the doorframe was the stranger from before. His head was cocked to the side in what Peter recognized as amusement. Now that he was closer, Peter could see how tall the other man was. Even carelessly slouching against the doorway, the man towered over him. Peter never particularly considered himself tall, to begin with, but now he felt absolutely tiny. He nearly flinched back when the stranger crossed the distance between them with three long strides. Peter belatedly realized that he no longer wore a leather jacket, and the tattoos he thought he saw didn't only paint across his chest but also spread down the man's arms. His very muscular arms. Peter watched those arms, entranced, as they reached up to pluck the book from his frozen hands. His voice was stuck somewhere in his throat as the stranger leaned closer to place the book back on the shelf behind him. Peter inhaled greedily, lightheaded by the sudden proximity. He smelled like woody pine trees and fresh mint.

When the man leaned back, and oxygen returned its flow to Peter's brain, he registered what the man had said. "Oh my gosh, I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- I was lost, and- What is this place? Is this your room? Do you live here or something? Wait, s-sorry, you don't have to answer that! I shouldn't be-" He bit his lip, cheeks blazing as the man raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. He really was very handsome. Almost unfairly so. "Sorry," Peter whispered meekly.

Silence rose around them as dark eyes stared into Peter's soul. Peter briefly wondered if he could see _through_ him, then almost immediately shriveled in embarrassment at the ridiculous idea. Just when he was about to make up some hasty excuse and bolt out of the room, the man spoke again, his voice a deep rasp that Peter could only describe as smoky. "You're not supposed to be in here, little one."

Peter's breath left in a rush, sure he was about to be in major trouble. Instead of the profuse apologizing that his brain demanded him to spew, he gulped and asked, "Did you paint all these?" Eyes wide and thoughts scattered, Peter nearly slapped himself, but that would've made him look even crazier, so he didn't. The man blinked as Peter reached behind them to shamelessly reclaim _Of Mice and Men_. Peter figured he was already going to be in major trouble, and he already crossed this guy's boundaries, so he might as well have kept going. Surely his mortification couldn't get any worse. Peter brought page 93 up between them, the inky leaf acting as a barrier to shield him from the man's intense glare. "My name's Peter, by the way. Peter Parker," he cringed at himself.

The stranger's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Peter only noticed because of how close they stood. He watched, worried as the man reached up to trap Peter's hand that he hadn't noticed had been tracing the coils of ink on the paper. His hands were a lot bigger than Peter's, veiny and callused, but also very warm. He leaned closer. "Are you lost, Peter Parker?" The man's husky voice ghosted past the shell of his ear, making him shiver.

"Um, I think so..." he whispered. Peter couldn't even tell up from down at that point. Then, the stranger let go of his hand and grabbed his arm as he led him outside, being surprisingly gentle. Peter's heart lodged up in his throat as the man escorted him down the hall and back to his class. His gait was poised and confident, oozing testosterone, and Peter struggled to keep up. No one seemed to notice as the man wordlessly deposited the shorter boy at the back of the group and disappeared back down the hallway. Mystified, Peter's eyes trailed after him, searing holes into the foreign man's back until he rounded the corner. Peter didn't even notice he was still holding _Of Mice and Men_ until Ned sidled up next to him and asked where he managed to find an old book in a science lab.

The third time he saw the man was later that same day, ironically enough. Peter had wandered off again and found a bunch of spiders, the book tucked safely away in his backpack. He was just about to head back to his class when his face smashed into something tall and sturdy. His arms pinwheeled to keep from falling back, but a pair of warm hands latched firmly around his waist, halting his descent in a much more graceful fashion. He looked up to see the same pair of intense eyes from earlier staring down at him. Peter coughed as he straightened, and the man dropped his hands back to his sides, burying them in his pants pockets. "Y-you're not f-following me, r-right?" Peter cursed his nervous stuttering.

The man stared blankly back and spoke in his deep, raspy tone. "You're the one who isn't supposed to be in here."

Peter closed his eyes, ashamed. The door had said 'Authorized Personnel Only.' He had hoped that he could quickly snoop around and get out unnoticed. Apparently not.

_ This guy must think I'm stupid. _

Dark eyes trailed past his shoulder, prompting Peter to turn around, worried he'd been caught by someone else as well when he felt a sharp pinch on the back of his neck. Hand shooting to grip his neck, he spun back around to find the man holding a dead spider, eyes wide and lips parted as he stared back. Peter's eyes darted from the spider to the stranger and back again. "Did you just... Is that..." he muttered, horrified, his vision suddenly swimming.

"Parker... I think it's time for you to go home," the man pocketed the dead spider.

_ Weird _ , Peter mused.

"Wuh... what 'bout my class?" Peter's words came out heavy and slurred. "What'ss hapn' to me?"

"Parker, pick up your feet. What's your home address?"

"I'm not tellin' you!" Peter shouted suddenly.

The man hissed at him to be quiet and helped him into an elevator.

_ When did we get in an elevator? _

Peter blinked drowsily up at the handsome man with tattoos. "Heeyy, is th' m' phone?" The stranger ignored his question, hurriedly typing into Peter's cellphone with one hand as the other remained wrapped around Peter's waist. The man's jaw was set, eyes hard.

"Oh my gosh, Peter! Who are you and what did you do to my friend?!" Ned's voice rang through the elevator.

"Shut up and get in," the man seethed at Peter's friend. "Tell your guide he has food poisoning and you're taking him home. Don't let anyone know what's wrong and _do not_ let anyone working here try to stop you." With that, the elevator doors opened, and the man vanished, leaving Ned to support Peter's weight as he sagged against the wall.

Ned did indeed do all of those things, and when Peter first woke up after a day of restless sleep and fever dreams, he saw  _ Of Mice and Men _ resting face-down on the floor beside his spilled backpack. Inked onto the back cover of the book was the name 'Jackson Wang.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it gets better :')


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where you can actually see a little plot :)

Peter doesn't see Jackson Wang again until almost three years later, when his junior year is almost over, and summer rain is lapping at the skies. Since then, his uncle Ben had died, and Oscorp Industries had been hit by waves upon waves of corruption scandals and new-found evidence of illegal human experimentation. Also, Peter is now Spider-Man, which is crazy. Even crazier is the fact that Tony Stark has taken him in as his protégé. Almost every day after class, Peter spends time with Mr. Stark up in his lab. Still, every now and then, Peter finds himself reading _Of Mice and Men_ , combing through until he reaches page 93. If it weren't for that book, he would have thought he dreamt about his encounter with Jackson Wang during his restless night after he had been bitten. Since then, he's come to a few conclusions. First, Jackson Wang was his first-ever crush. Second, _Of Mice and Men_ is his favorite book. Third, he needs to find Jackson Wang. Looking back on their strange meetings, Peter realizes that Jackson Wang had to have worked at Oscorp. He had a room there, with a bed that he lived in. That's the only answer. Ever since he got bit, Peter has been looking into Oscorp and their shady dealings. Radioactive spiders are one thing, but the coverups about human experimentation and mysterious disappearances were enough to convince Peter that Oscorp was dirty. And it was certainly enough to convince him that he was right: Jackson Wang screamed trouble. Peter might not have been able to chop Oscorp down in the way he wanted, but the ethics allegations would surely rot the tree as time passes. But, for now, Oscorp Tower still stands. He can't help but wonder what could have happened to the man with the dark eyes. Does he still work there? Where is he now?

Peter gets his answer in the most unexpected fashion. He runs into Jackson Wang when on patrol as Spider-Man. Peter sits on the edge of a building, legs dangling and mask rolled up to his nose as he munches on a churro when a loud noise startles him. In the alleyway across the street, sandwiched between a bank and a small tattoo shop, something clanged like metal against concrete. Normally, this wouldn't bother Peter, but a slight tingle wormed its way down his neck, and the hairs on his arms stood up. Placing his churro to the side, he rolls his mask back down and swings over to the opening of the alley. The air feels thick and stagnant and tastes like fear. He can hear someone breathing heavily and notices a dark blob hunched against the side door to the tattoo parlor. Peter moves closer and nearly jumps as the tingling increases in intensity. "Hello? Are you hurt? Do you need help?" Peter calls into the darkness.

There's a sharp intake of air, and the person scrambles deeper into the alley, panting harder. "Stay back." It's barely a mumble, but Peter hears it perfectly.

He raises his hands placatingly, hoping the person can see he's unarmed. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to help."

"You can't."

_ Can't hurt you, or can't help you? _ Peter wonders ominously.

Peter freezes in his slow crawl forward as he suddenly places the voice. "Jackson Wang?" he whispers. Then, he remembers that he's dressed as Spider-Man and curses under his breath.

"Parker?" Jackson gasps. Peter winces and removes his mask. There's no point in pretending now.

Whatever reaction he was expecting, this wasn't it. As soon as Jackson sees his face, the man rushes inside the tattoo shop, the side door banging shut behind him. "Wait!" Peter rushes forward, ready to rip the door off its hinges if necessary. He pauses, considering. He can hear Jackson's harsh wheezes on the other side, minute whimpers only someone like Spider-Man can hear. The smell of fear lingers in the dank alleyway. "Jackson, just please tell me if you're hurt?" Peter presses his forehead against the door, listening.

"Please leave," he hears faintly. "I don't want to hurt you."

That has Peter's full attention. He suddenly flashes back to when Jackson stood behind him with a dead spider in his hand. He's tried not to think about that moment, but he still questions what actually happened. "Jackson, I'm coming in, okay?" He steels himself for whatever he's about to find.

"No!" A desperate voice calls before he yanks the door open. Peter barely glimpses Jackson hunched in on himself before his senses scream, and he's blasted back into the alley wall, head smacking against bricks. His entire front is throbbing and tingling. Pins-and-needles shoot down his skull as his vision swims out of focus. The damp concrete beneath his body is ice-cold to the touch, and yet it burns at the same time. His ears are ringing, but he can hear someone screaming. It's a sound full of pain and agony, and it's horrible. Then, Peter realizes that he's the one screaming. Someone brushes the hair out of his eyes, but their touch is fire and ice, and Peter screams again. His stomach clenches painfully, and he can distantly feel himself throwing up. Peter whines deep in his throat as his body starts going numb and his surroundings blacken until all that's left is blissful nothing.

Crawling into consciousness for Peter is like digging his way out of a grave. His body feels like an actual weight, and his head, nose, mouth, eyes, ears, throat are all stuffed with cotton. His tongue feels like a ball of clay in his mouth and tastes even worse. It's dark even through his eyelids, so it must either still be nighttime, or he's inside somewhere. He opens his eyes with a dry groan when suddenly there's a glass pressing gently against his lips. He hesitantly opens his mouth and is met with lukewarm water soaking into his tongue and pooling in his cheeks. He reaches up and wraps his hand around the one holding the glass as he greedily gulps down its contents. He can hear a soft chuckle before the cup leaves his grasp. "Not too fast, little one," the smoky voice murmurs.

_ Jackson? _

Peter twists his head too fast to see and ends up nearly toppling off the mattress that he was apparently sleeping on. Big, warm,  _ hot  _ hands hold his shoulders steady as he sways in place. He whimpers as the touch sears his bare skin, and the hands quickly let go. Panting softly, Peter glances down to see he's only in his underwear. His head whips up again to see Jackson's face, and he shrieks and scrambles back on the bed. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead as he panics. "What do you want from me? Where are my clothes? Did you drug me?" His voice comes out high and thin.

He flinches away as Jackson reaches toward him, but the man grabs his face and stares him in the eyes. "Parker, calm down. Take deep breaths, in and out. Follow my lead... just like that..."

Peter gulps air as he focuses on Jackson's deep, rumbling voice. He can feel his thoughts calming as the panic recedes. "Where are my clothes?" He whines, covers himself with the sheet, and feels his entire face heat up.

"Oh, good. You're getting some color back," Jackson tenderly sweeps a thumb across Peter's cheekbone. "Just relax, little one. Your suit's right next to you."

_ My suit! _ He suddenly remembers that Jackson knows who he is. But, true to his word, Peter's Spider-Man suit is folded cleanly on a small wooden bedside table.

"I took it off because one of the side effects is sensitivity. It seemed even more extreme in your case." Jackson frowns down at him, deep in thought. "I guess that has something to do with your new genes, though, huh?"

Peter furrows his brow in bewilderment and chooses to ignore his last sentence, "Side effects?"

In the dim lighting of the room, Peter can barely see as the man's expression freezes and a wall erects between them. "Let's get you home, Parker."

"Wait!" Peter hurriedly grasps Jackson's wrist before the man can stand up from his crouched position by the bed. "Are you hurt?" He asks. There's a crease between Jackson's brows that Peter has a feeling is due to some kind of injury. He's also starting to notice the deep purple bruises under his eyes like little half-moons and the red cut on his lip.

"I'm fine. Can you stand?"

"No, you're hurt, I can tell. What happened?" Peter refuses to budge.

Jackson sighs in frustration, a hard edge creeping into his dark gaze. "Get up." He bites.

Peter shakily clambers to his feet, legs wobbling like a newborn colt. "I-I'm sorry, I'm just worried. I only want to help." He watches his fingers as they anxiously fiddle with the material of his Spider-Man suit.

Jackson sighs again, softer this time as he lifts Peter's face, thumb pressing against his chin. "Stop trying to help me, little one," he murmurs.

Peter pushes his bottom lip out and glares, "No."

Surprise flits briefly across the older's face before he scowls back down at him. "Stop, Parker," he warns. "It's not worth it."

"It's always worth it," Peter insists.

"Not this time." He observes as the man swallows, his hand falling to his side again. "Besides, there's nothing you can do."

"Bet," Peter spits back.

Jackson abruptly grabs Peter by the jaw, his fingers dig into the boy's cheeks. He brings his face inches away and glares his fathomless black eyes into Peter's. "Stop being so stubborn, kid. You could have died. If you keep trying to fix me, I  _ will _ kill you."

Peter's breath hitches as Jackson's hot breath spills over his face, tone not threatening but promising. He can feel his heart trying to pound out of his skull as his lungs stop functioning. Not even the Vulture intimidated him this much. The corners of his eyes prickle and warm, but he refuses to let them water. "Please," Peter whispers, suddenly scared. He gasps when Jackson lets him go to collapse on the bed. Face drawn, Jackson watches as Peter hiccups in anger. The younger boy springs from the mattress and shoves his palms against the man's broad chest, sending him sprawling on the floor in shock. Wide, black eyes follow him as Peter sits on the man's stomach and fists his hands in his black T-shirt.

"Why won't you let me help you?!" Peter shouts at him. His arms shake, and his face is turning red. The tears that fought to pool in his eyes are spilling down his face now, dripping onto Jackson's neck as he vigorously shakes the man underneath him. "Please stop fighting me!"

Peter's next words get cut off with a sob as he wilts. His fingers release the shirt trapped between them and tremble against the man's chest. With pinched brows, Jackson carefully guides Peter's head down to rest in the crook of his neck, softly stroking his hair as his other hand rubs soothing circles on his back. "Emotional sensitivity is also one of the side effects," Peter can feel him murmur against his cheek that's pressed into the man's neck. He breathes in balsam fir and eucalyptus and continues to weep against warm skin.

They stay like that for a short moment until Peter's tears subside into sniffles. Peter looks up with flushed and blotchy cheeks, "Will you tell me what happened now?"

Jackson's chest rises and falls with his exasperation. "You're a persistent little one, you know that?" But his mouth curves up the tiniest bit. "Let's get you in some clothes and fed, then I'll tell you."

Peter's entire face crimsons as he realizes he's still lying half-naked on top of him. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" He rushes to stand, nearly elbowing Jackson in the head with his urgency. The man snorts as Peter helps him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Peter got bit by accident? Or was it planned? ... Hmm
> 
> Guess you'll find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some questions get answers, and some don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I put a trigger warning for underage because technically Peter is like 17 in this story while Jackson is 20, so, yeah. Just to clarify.

Jackson Wang turns out to be an amazing chef. Way better than Peter, that's for sure. He cooks them a hotpot, some kind of dish that's popular in his home country, and Peter absolutely  _ loves _ it. He never thought that he would like fishballs, but this day is shaping up to be new for Peter in a lot of ways. And thankfully, he knows how to use chopsticks; otherwise, this would've been a lot more embarrassing. They eat in silence for the most part. It's a comfortable silence, only broken by their chewing and the occasional scraping of cutlery against ceramic bowls. Suddenly, Peter straightens, wide brown eyes locking onto the man across from him. "Hey, how long have I been here?"

Jackson pauses his chewing long enough to answer. "Three days."

"Thr- You're kidding, right?" Peter feels the blood drain from his face.

"Your friend Leeds is covering for you," the older tells him with his mouth full, which Peter makes a face at.

"Ned knows I'm here? With you?"

Jackson swallows and sets his chopsticks down to drink from his tea. "He kept calling your phone, so I answered and told him you ran into some trouble and I was helping you out. He knows you're not going to be back until later and told your aunt that you're staying the weekend at his place. I assume she knows about this whole vigilante bit?" At Peter's dazed nod, he continues. "So, just tell her you couldn't answer her calls because you were trying to help someone. Problem solved."

_ It's not that simple _ , Peter wants to say.

He watches in a numb state of shock as Jackson finishes eating and lifts the bowl of broth to his lips. His prominent Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Peter's floored by how much Jackson knows about him. "How did you know I have an aunt?" He asks when Jackson sets the bowl back down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like an animal.

"Leeds isn't good at keeping secrets," he deadpans.

A breathy laugh falls from Peter's lips, and he thinks he should have seen that coming. Ned means well, and it's simply kneejerk at this point for Peter to defend him. "He's not  _ that _ bad at keeping secrets," he sulks into his hotpot as he swirls his chopsticks around the remaining hunks of food.

Jackson doesn't respond, but there's a knowing look in his dark eyes that makes Peter want to smile. "If you're done eating, can you tell me what happened?" He hopes he's not pushing his luck, but Jackson said Peter could have  _ died _ , so he feels entitled to some damn information.

The man gets up and takes his dishes over to the sink. He's quiet for a moment as he leans his hands against the counter, his back like a wall to the younger teen. Then, as he returns to the table and starts to clean up around Peter, he looks into his eyes and tells him, "You have to understand that I could have killed you that night. I will tell you about me, but only if you promise to listen next time I tell you not to come near me. Do you understand, Peter?" His sudden use of Peter's first name dampens any argument forming on his tongue. Peter nods instead of speaking, not trusting his voice to come out without stuttering or cracking. His chest feels tight with dread.

Jackson searches his eyes for something Peter isn't sure is there before turning around and putting away all the leftovers. Peter looks down at his nearly empty bowl and quickly drains the last of the broth before putting his dishes in the sink as well. He's tempted to offer to do the cleaning, but he doesn't want to delay the conversation any further. He eagerly follows Jackson into the living room; baronial creme walls exhibiting exquisite works of art in thick, ornate chestnut oak frames; polished shelves lined with priceless artifacts; white faux fur carpet tickling between his bare toes. There's no way they're still in Queens.

Jackson gestures for Peter to sit on an august couch, its taupe suede material is supple against his skin, and Peter expects him to sit next to him, but instead, the man perches on the edge of a low-lying oak table in front of him. Jackson leans his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands together, and looks straight into Peter's very existence.

Unnerved, Peter tries not to fidget with the hem of his borrowed T-shirt that's too big on him and falls to his mid-thighs. It's really soft to the touch and smells of balsam fir and eucalyptus. Peter finds himself scanning the bruises under Jackson's eyes, the cut on his lip, the small scar at his temple. His studious gaze lingers on the edge of the gauze he can see lining just along the sleeve of the man's shirt. Peter reaches on instinct, hand ghosting over the dark material. Jackson's wearing a maroon shirt today, not his usual black.

Jackson leans away from his touch, and Peter inwardly curses himself, thinking he must have overstepped when Jackson swiftly reaches up, grips the shoulders of his shirt, and peels it off, sable hair disheveling under the material. Peter's initial reaction is confusion.

_ His hair looks so soft. _

Then he sees the tattoos and the bruises. It comes as a great shock that the ink is more jarring than the wounds because at least the bruises aren't  _ moving _ .

Peter doesn't breathe as he rises from the couch and places a tentative hand on the biggest tattoo on Jackson's chest. It's a phoenix with flames licking across his pectorals and wings that flutter as if it's flying. The bird turns its head and seems to look directly at Peter before it flies over Jackson's shoulder, leaving the skin beneath Peter's hand bare and tan. Another mark on Jackson's collarbone draws Peter's attention. It's a set of Chinese characters, and it's the only one not moving. His eyes find Jackson's with a question, "What does this one mean?"

The man stares back at him with an unknown emotion dancing in his black eyes. His lips part around words that won't leave. Finally, he blinks and averts his gaze to stare over Peter's head. His voice is hoarser when he answers. "This one says family..." Jackson takes Peter's hand and steers it over the two leftmost characters, then traces across the two on the right. "And 希望 means hope," Jackson whispers the foreign language in his smoky voice, throat bobbing.

Peter wraps his fingers around the older's and brushes his lips across the words, his heart pounding in his ears. He wants to ask about his family, but the pain glistening in the man's eyes dissuades him. Best to leave that topic for another day when or if Jackson is ever ready. For now, Peter reluctantly lets go of his hand and tenderly prods at the large bruise running up Jackson's abdomen. It's black at its center and runs from his left hip up to the bottom of his ribcage. "Tell me now?"

Jackson swiftly nods, grateful for the change of topic, and slides back into his shirt as they retake their seats on opposing furniture. "I lost control of my energy when you found me. It's linked to my emotions and is really difficult to repress even when I'm not feeling much. When you opened the door, it all just exploded out of me. If you had touched me then, you wouldn't be alive right now."

Peter frowns. "How often do you lose control like that?"

"The last time I couldn't stop it was about a year ago," Jackson replied, not exactly answering the question.

"And before that?" Peter feels invasive asking.

"The last time it was  _ really _ bad was two and a half years ago, November of 2015."

_ That's three months after we first met _ , he mentally calculates.

Peter's silent for a little while as he contemplates this information, gears clicking in his brain. "That room... back at Oscorp," Jackson stifles a flinch at hearing the name. "Was that..." Peter trails off, not knowing what he's even attempting to ask.

Jackson nods anyway, lip curling in disgust and eyes hard where they're trained on the designs slithering over his folded hands. "They were testing my emotional responses and how my ink would react. So they could figure out what's wrong with me."

Peter hesitates before gingerly taking the man's hands in his own and running his thumbs across the veins on the backs. "Did they kidnap you?"

He flinches when a bitter scoff leaves Jackson's lips. "That's the funny part," he says humorlessly, "I went to them."

"But why would you do that to yourself?" Peter frowns.

"Because I want it to stop, Parker. I want to live and not have to constantly worry about hurting people or feeling things. I didn't have any other choice. It's better if I'm the only one who has to suffer." Jackson's voice hardens until he almost snarls the last few words. But then his shoulders sag, and he looks centuries old at this moment, weighed down by the world and his own feeble existence. And he means it. Jackson truly believes that he has to endure all this pain, deserves it even.

Peter's eyes start to burn, and a lump forms in his throat. He squeezes the large hands in his a little harder until Jackson looks up at him. "Come with me to see Mr. Stark tomorrow. He can help you."

Something dark passes over the man's face then. He stands up, and Peter's hands fall in his lap. "No."

"What? Why not?" He knows he's whining now, but this is ridiculous.

"Ask him yourself." Jackson looks agitated and anxious now as he paces over to the grandiose floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading out to an opulent balcony. Peter trips over the edge of the coffee table as he scurries outside after the man. The warm palette of outdoor furnishing sets tones of glamour and sensuality; plush lounge chairs and a short, round wooden table with a glass surface line the exterior wall.

"Jax, he can help you! Why are you being like this?!" Peter is angry again, frustrated with this enigma of a man who won't agree to anything, who won't ask for help when he so clearly needs every bit he can, won't even entertain the mere suggestion.

Jackson, for the most part, doesn't rise to his anger like Peter thought he would. The younger watches as he grabs a pack of cigarettes from the table and pulls one out to balance between his lips. Jackson lights it using a red lighter that was in his pocket and inhales. If he were in a better mood, Peter would love to take a photo of the austere scene, but Peter can still feel his temper bubbling at the surface, and it's spilling over now that the older refuses to acknowledge it. "If you won't come with me, I'll bring Mr. Stark to you," he threatens.

Draped in a cloud of smoke, Jackson turns, nothing but a shadowy silhouette against the neon glare of the street signs below. He looks menacing yet simultaneously melancholy.

He steps closer. "Parker, shut up for a second."

Jackson's long, tapered fingers smooth over his brow, sweeping his wayward fringe aside. Peter's eyes track the older's movements carefully. It's hard to see his face in the darkness, but Peter's enhanced senses allow him to pick out the faint sheen of light that reflects off of the man's bottom lip. He can see it curl slightly before the cigarette returns, a circle of fire against the black.

Peter struggles not to cough at the smoke billowing between them. "Smoking is bad for your health," he whispers. Jackson chuckles under his breath and snubs the cigarette out on the stucco railing. Peter really wants to kiss him.

"It helps me think," the older's hot breath fans against Peter's lips. He wishes he could see the man's eyes. "You should try it."

"No, thanks," Peter smiles. "I don't need help thinking."

Jackson's laugh penetrates the stifling night air, a sound Peter immediately wants to cram in a bottle so he can drown himself in it. He's never heard anything like it; it's higher-pitched than Jackson's speaking voice, youthful in a way that makes it contagious, and Peter finds himself laughing along.

All too soon, the lighthearted moment passes, and Jackson sobers. "I tried," he says. "Stark turned me away."

Jackson's words sit like lead in Peter's gut. Disbelief colors the insides of his cheeks and drips from his tongue, "What? No, no, Mr. Stark wouldn't do that. He- he would've helped you."

A warm hand slides up his neck, callused fingers hook around his nape, and a thumb strokes his jaw. "Parker, he won't help me. It's okay. You tried, alright? Now let it go."

Jackson's husky voice and the hand at his neck almost send Peter into a spiral, but his brain stays fixated on one thing. "He'll help you if I ask him to," Peter cups Jackson's cheek with his own hand. "Mr. Stark will listen to me. I know it."

A sigh tickles against his lips, and Peter can feel something shift inside him. He darts forward, aching to comfort Jackson and sate his own desires. His lips find Jackson's in the neon glow of night, and they're unexpectedly soft, like velvet beneath his thinner lips. The kiss doesn't last long, only a short peck before Peter's leaning away. His pulse throbs in his temples as he squints to see Jackson's expression in the gloom of lingering smoke. Peter's just starting to think he ruined the moment when he finds his lips abruptly recaptured. Jackson's big, warm hands cradle his face as he steals the breath from Peter's lungs. This kiss isn't sweet like the last one; this is desperate and starving. Peter doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he rests them on the older's hips. Jackson's tongue swipes across his bottom lip, begging for entrance, and Peter opens easy and pliant underneath him. He's never been kissed before, let alone kissed like this. He loves it.

Jackson tastes like cigarettes and hotpot as his tongue skims across Peter's teeth and caresses the insides of his cheeks. It's an oddly attractive mixture. Their tongues graze, and Peter sighs softly into his mouth. His face heats up in embarrassment, but he doesn't care. His hands tremble as he places them against Jackson's broad chest and reluctantly pulls away for air, parted lips hovering centimeters away. What felt like hours was only a few seconds, but Peter still finds himself panting. Hot, humid breath fills the space between them, dimly lit by street lights. Together, they stand suspended in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally so soft for these two. Like, take all my uwus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter drags Jackson to Avengers Tower, and a little of Jackson's past is unveiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A teaser for the smut y'all have probably been waiting for, and Flash makes a cameo?
> 
> Again, I feel the need to clarify that Jackson is three years older than Peter.

Peter was able to convince Jackson to accompany him to meet Mr. Stark after class the next day. Their kiss is branded in Peter's mind, on his lips, and the skin on his cheeks where Jackson had held him. He can't stop thinking about it. His first-ever kiss with his first-ever crush. He feels like he's dreaming. Several times throughout the day, Ned thinks so, too. An elbow slots between his ribs, jolting Peter from his thoughts.

"Bro, are you sure you're okay? You've been really out of it today." Ned's worried face fills his vision. Peter's cheeks feel warm at the prospect of being caught daydreaming about kissing a man. He hasn't told Ned anything about that night other than that he found someone nice enough to help him recover while he was injured. They're supposed to talk about it once Peter gets home later tonight, but he's still nervous. Maybe he should ask Jackson if it's okay for him to tell Ned it was the same guy who helped him escape Oscorp after he got bit. Ned's first impression of Jackson isn't very good.

The bell rings above them, ending the school day and saving Peter from answering. He's starting to get suspicious at how well this day is going. Peter and Ned talk amicably as they stop by their lockers before leaving the school. Outside, the air is blisteringly hot, and Peter almost immediately breaks into a sweat. It's made worse by the strapping young man leaning against a black '77 Aston Martin Vantage. Thanks to Mr. Stark, Peter has gotten a lot better with cars. There's a crowd of students loitering around the man and his car. They giggle and whisper behind their hands, but he ignores them all. A cigarette dangles between his lips as he talks to someone on the phone. He's not wearing all black today. His pants are black, but his shirt and shoes are white, the lightest color Peter's ever seen him in. And he looks  _ good _ . Unfairly so. His tattoos are motionless on his skin, and his arms look huge as they bulge from that white T-shirt. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead as he taps his cigarette ash onto the pavement.

Peter rolls his eyes, amused.  _ This is a no-smoking zone _ . Just as he thinks that, black eyes dart up and land on Peter, who stands suspended in the man's presence. A smile Peter's never seen before lights up his face as he straightens up from his reclined position. Peter can feel Ned looking at him from his left, but his eyes stay locked on that smile because  _ holy shit _ , this man is the most attractive person Peter's ever seen. Peter walks over on legs that feel like they're made of oatmeal. Ned dawdles speechlessly behind him.

"Parker, you ready to go?" Jackson says a quick goodbye to whoever he was on the phone with, hangs up, and claps a hand on Peter's shoulder, his grin never wavering. A girl squeaks somewhere behind him.

"Ye-yeah, mhmm." His cheeks flush.

"Hey, Penis Parker! Who're you talking to?" Peter's face falls as Flash emerges from the crowd of onlookers and moseys up next to them. Flash drops a hand on Jackson's shoulder, completely ignoring Peter, and he can't tell if the boy is brave or just socially inept. "Is this loser bothering you? Don't worry, you can stick with me, and you'll be fine."

Peter swallows when he sees Jackson's face. The older first looks at Flash's hand on his shoulder then turns to face the bully. This close, only Peter and Flash can witness as the whites of Jackson's eyes fade to black, and the face of a demon glares back. It's so fleeting Peter would've thought he imagined it if it weren't for Flash's sudden terror. The poor boy reels back as if burnt and belts out a high-pitched shriek. Jackson watches with mild disinterest as the bully falls on his ass, but Peter hasn't taken his eyes off Jackson's face. Eyes no longer completely taken by black narrow at the cowering teenager. "Touch me  _ one more time _ ," he steps forward menacingly, and Flash cringes back like an abused animal. "See what happens."

Emotions caught somewhere between fear, concern, and arousal, Peter rests a comforting hand on the man's bicep. When he sees the growing wet patch on Flash's shorts, he pulls Jackson away. The students around them whisper and point as Flash barrels through them to escape. "Jax," Peter looks up at him through his lashes. "Let's just go, please?"

Ned suddenly materializes beside Peter, eyes wide and definitely intimidated. "Peter? Isn't that..."

"Leeds," Jackson barely acknowledges the boy as he opens the passenger door for Peter to get in. "He'll tell you later."

Peter winces when he sees Ned's shoulders sag. "Can I come over for dinner tonight?"

Ned instantly lights back up and nods his head vigorously. "Of course, Peter! You don't even have to ask!"

"Okay," he smiles. "I'll see ya then, buddy."

Jackson shuts the car door once Peter's in and rounds the front to take the driver's side. The engine purrs to life under his strong grip before they pull out of the school parking lot and into New York traffic. Peter bites his cheek as he observes the man. His shoulders are stiff, his knuckles are white where they wrap around the steering wheel, and there's a tense set to his jaw. His eyes don't leave the road even when they aren't moving.

"Are you okay?"

Jackson side-eyes him, "I'm fine."

Peter purses his lips. "Are you sure?"

Jackson's shoulders droop slightly as he sighs. "I'm okay, really. Just anxious."

"About meeting Mr. Stark?" Peter guesses.

Jackson shakes his head.

"About asking someone else for help?"

Peter knows he's right this time by the way Jackson swallows. He's getting better at reading the man's tells. In an unexpected display of courage, Peter reaches across the center console and grips Jackson's strong thigh; it jumps under his palm. Jackson sends him a curious glance as Peter languidly massages his muscle, face red and timid. The lingering flame of arousal from Jackson's earlier display of dominance in the parking lot fans to life in Peter's gut. "It's okay to ask for help sometimes, Jax," Peter mumbles and lets his hand drift further inward. Butterflies knock around in his chest, fluttering with the beat that pulses in his skull. Jackson sucks in a breath as Peter's hand finds its way between his legs. Peter hadn't thought this completely through, so his hand just lays there, cupping the older's crotch through his denim jeans.

"Parker," Jackson growls deep and throaty as he accelerates. "You're playing a dangerous game." The tattoos on his arms speed around his forearms and shoot up his long fingers. Peter's never done anything like this before, and it excites him. He really wants Jackson to touch him.

Almost as if reading his mind, Jackson takes his right hand off the wheel and has Peter's jeans unbuttoned and his fly unzipped before he can even blink. Peter gasps when Jackson doesn't even look away from the road as he reaches under Peter's waistband to grab him, his rough hand absolute fire on Peter's skin. He's already panting when the man starts to stroke him while driving, seemingly bored and uninterested as Peter falls apart in the passenger seat next to him. Peter's hand is still frozen in Jackson's lap. He whines when Jackson abruptly removes his hand and holds it in front of Peter's face, palm up.

"Spit."

Jackson cuts a glance over to Peter. Thoughts scattered and nerves tingling, Peter has trouble deciphering the meaning behind one word. Jackson cockily taps his fingers against Peter's cheek, a roguish smirk on his lips as he repeats the order, "Spit, little one."

Waves of unexpected arousal unfurl in Peter's groin as he purses his lips and dribbles a thin line of saliva onto Jackson's palm. Peter feels filthy and absolutely debauched. The ravenous look in the older's black eyes as he lowers his hand once again has Peter's skin buzzing and his stomach clenching. The slick glide of Jackson's heavy hand feels like delicious molten honey around him, and with the twist of his wrist, Jackson lures Peter closer and closer to the edge, moans tumbling from the younger's parted lips. Jackson does something with his thumb that Peter can't see that reminds Peter of electricity and leaves his toes curling with pleasure. His trembling hands helplessly latch onto Jackson's wrist and forearm as Peter heaves in sharp little gasps.

"Parker," Jackson's voice is deep and sultry when he speaks, alluring eyes still trained on his wrecked form. "Be a good boy, and cum for me."

And that's all it takes to send Peter into a free fall. Dull nails digging into Jackson's arm, Peter's head falls back against the seat as his muscles seize and his eyes clench shut. A high-pitched, "Oh God," rips from his throat as he stains his shirt.

White noise rings in his ears, and he's barely able to hear as Jackson huffs a low laugh next to him, "So I've been called."

When Peter opens his eyes again, Jackson's back to looking at the road, right hand still clutched to Peter's lap and spattered white. Heat floods to Peter's cheeks as he studies the man's fingers. Long, tapered digits with knobby knuckles, large veins, and rough calluses lining the top of his palm and insides of his thumb. There's an expensive watch clasped around his wrist and tattoos gliding over the back of his hand. Peter stares at the white speckles of his cum coating the inside of the index finger and promptly guides it to his lips, suctioning it from the man's hand. Peter likes how he tastes, salty with a little bit of tang.

"Jesus Christ, kid," Jackson grumbles, darting a glance over to see.

"Are you still anxious?" Peter wonders as Jackson absently swipes his spit-slick finger over the teen's bottom lip.

Jackson huffs in disbelief. "Oh, you're good, Parker. You're a sneaky little one."

Peter smiles bashfully and finally releases Jackson's hand. He fidgets, uncomfortable. "Do you have any napkins in here?" He doesn't even realize that they're parking and have already arrived at Avengers Tower. He blanches and peers down at his stained shirt as Jackson swings into a parking space.

"Here," Jackson leans over the center console and starts tugging Peter's defiled shirt off.

"Whuh..." Peter blinks in a daze as the older wipes the evidence of what they had done off of Peter's crotch with his shirt. "Great, now my shirt is ruined," he whines petulantly.

Jackson flicks his pouting bottom lip and smirks. "C'mon, cutie, I've another one in the trunk." He steps out, leaving a flustered Peter to stare after him with saucers for eyes. Peter suppresses a hysterical giggle as he exits the car, hoping no one will see him with no shirt on. He thinks he should be more embarrassed about everything that just happened. The trunk slams shut, revealing a smug Jackson holding a faded navy blue T-shirt. Peter feels a curl of pride swell in his chest when he notices the slight bulge between Jackson's legs as he helps Peter slip his shirt on over his head. Jackson catches the younger's hand in his as they walk toward the tower entrance, sunlight and the lingering remnants of his orgasm making Peter's skin glow. The shirt is easily two sizes too big on Peter, and it keeps sliding off his shoulder, but it smells like Jackson and is soft against his flushed skin. Although, Peter notices there's a slightly sweeter smell to it, like cinnamon or nutmeg.

_ The man smells like Christmas, for crying out loud. All that's missing is the toasted marshmallows and hot chocolate. _ Peter stifles another smitten giggle at his own line of thoughts.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse suite is a lot less nerve-wracking than Peter thought it would be. He's on a little bit of a high right now. On the other hand, even though Jackson seems to have tucked away his anxieties, Peter has a feeling that he's not as confident and composed as he appears to be. Peter wonders how the older does it. How he files his insecurities away like they were never there in the first place. Peter squeezes Jackson's hand in silent support anyway, and Jackson smiles gratefully down at him right as the doors slide open. "Kid? You're fifteen minutes late, what gives? And don't say..." Tony Stark trails off as he rounds the corner. "Who's this?" His eyes drop to their hands, and Peter lets go, feeling awkward.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Stark. This is my, um, friend, Jackson Wang. He, uh... we need your help," Peter stumbles his way through the uncomfortable tension. Recognition flits across Tony's expression.

Tony's attentive gaze scans the young man from head to toe, taking in his relaxed stance with his hands tucked in his pockets, his tattoos, and the cuts and bruises that blemish his face. Tony's eyes flick to Peter's borrowed shirt and back, "How do you know my Peter?"

"He saved my life, sir," Jackson says politely, surprising both Tony and Peter.

_ I did? _ Peter blinks up at the young man in awe. He doesn't remember any heroic acts on  _ his _ part. As far as he's concerned, Jackson did all of the saving.

"Riiight..." Tony drawls, unconvinced. "Kid, give us a moment, would ya?" He's not asking.

"But-"

"C'mon, kid. It'll only take a second."

Peter bristles, "With all due respect, Mr. Stark, sir, whatever you have to say to him, I wanna hear it, too."

"Parker-" Jackson gently grasps his elbow, expression resigned.

"No, why do you refuse to help him?!" Peter rounds on Tony, irate.

"Because he's a murderer, Peter! And a criminal! Now, get away from him," Tony snaps. He steps forward, arm outstretched as if to pull Peter to his side.

Peter feels Jackson flinch as if struck. He looks up, confounded as Jackson hangs his head, grief-stricken face trained to the floor. All previous traces of confidence have left as he now pulls in tremulous breaths, throat convulsing and hands forming fists in his pockets.

"Jax?" Peter whispers into the frailty of the moment.

Onyx orbs dance away before Jackson pivots on his heel and flees into the elevator with three long strides, metal doors sealing shut between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there'll be more sexy times :)


End file.
